


Never Go Home

by anderscones



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Other, Teenlock, overdramatic piece of shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anderscones/pseuds/anderscones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teen!Lock!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The story changes POV, and since different fonts aren't allowed on AO3 (or I'm too dumb to figure it out), sections starting with +- will be Sherlock's POV and ++ will be John's.  
> It gets better after this chapter (so I think), so just give it a bit to get properly rolling, yeah?  
> Also, this work is my baby. This is the farthest I've written something in a while and I still have a lot of inspirations and plot progressors in mind.  
> ANOTHER ALSO: Fucking. The indents. They're weird, and I have no idea how to fix it easily.

+-

“And if the event should arise, we want you all to be safe. So, Miss Morals will pass out –quit acting immature- will pass out these condoms to everyone –okay, seriously, guys?” Mr. Chastely droned out, trying to calm down the students that erupted into laughter and distasteful comments.

          I could see the petit woman walk around the room out of the corner of my eye. She was blonde (from a bottle), and strutted like a runway girl, which she aspired to be (obvious from her gait, posture, and practised stony face), but was rejected due to her height. She strode through the rows, dropping a small, square packet on each desk. _Age: 21, no, 19. Recently broken up with. Went out the night before with friends to drink her loneliness away._ Ventured out of bed this morning only to get paid, according to her badly scuffed heels with worn-down points and the well-used earrings she donned every day. She seemed to have a well-to-do taste that she maintained at once before, but no longer could, probably due to the long chain of break-ups she endured. _She had a wealthy boyfriend at one poi-_

          An object blasted the back of my head, stopping my thought. From the angle it hit, the item came from two seats behind me and one towards my right. I scanned the seating arrangement in my mind and realized that Sebastian Moran threw it. The speed of the student teacher’s walk meant that she just passed him with the basket filled with the plastic-wrapped latex, and it was probably a condom that pelted my skull. I inwardly sighed, staring forward, expecting a rude and uncreative insult to follow.

          “Bet you won’t need that, though.” He mocked, laughing with his cronies as if it were something extraordinarily hilarious.

          “Now, Seb, no need to get physical; you know he’s a mind person. Stick with the insults; they’ll hurt more than any injury you could inflict,” Jim cooed next to him, talking in my general direction. I didn’t turn around. “Right, Sherlock? Isn’t that what mummy tells you? Not to fight, but to be smarter than your opponent?”

          “Well, not anymore, I guess.” He said gently, but not gentle at all, and I could feel eyes boring into the back of my head. Jim probably assumed that the mention of my mother would upset me.

          “Boys, please.” stated Miss Morals, not directly looking at anyone as she sat a condom down on my desk. She really didn’t care about the attacks, but she still had to do her job. Poorly, I must admit.

          “Can I have that back, Sherlock?” Sebastian coughed at me, aggressiveness creeping into his tone.

          Ignoring him, I leaned back in my chair a little, trying to get into a new comfortable position. It seemed my body was only happy with whatever position it remained in for the first five minutes when I wasn’t in one of my tiring thinking rampages. I watched Miss Morals return to the front of the room. There was a white stain on the bottom of her dark knee-length skirt. It seemed no more than a few hours old. Looking closer, I could see her hair slightly disheveled, falling out of her clip in a few places.

          “Oi, asshole. Don’t ignore me,” His voice growled soberly at me. “I know you can hear me, so turn around. I want to see your face.” I cocked my head a bit, not exactly looking at the group. “They’ll all leave you alone because they know you don’t deserve them. Not even your brother likes you, and he’s the one who has to deal with your sorry ass. I feel kind of bad for him.” I rolled my eyes at the dramaticism.

          I could faintly hear voices in the hallway over the noise of the class that had erupted into scoffs. Shadows began to interrupt the light coming from underneath the door, and a small knock rapped on it. The knock was soft but sure, like the person it came from was both scared and determined to be confident at the same time. A new student, most likely.  Approximately 5’6” tall. Left handed, according to the placement of the knock.  I observed Mr. Chastely as he rose out of his seat. He was walking towards the door, and I could clearly see his trouser zipper down, the inner flaps around it speckled with stains of white. _Oh. Stupid. I should have realized sooner,_ I thought to myself _I wonder which desk it was on._ I stared down at mine, examining it casually and sniffing briefly. It smelled like lemon-scented cleaner. _Great._ He turned the knob let the new student in.

          He was short and solidly built, but didn’t appear cocky. He seemed humble, actually. A piece of paper slipped off of the counter, blown by the current that swept through from the door. The boy had an unwillingness to rely on others- obvious from his stiff posture and intense yet subtle stare at the entire classroom. His face looked hardened with experience of authority (probably an older brother) and softened by… _by what?_ He bent over and retrieved the paper immediately from the floor. _Ah._ His inclination to care.

          “Does your desk smell like summer drinks?” Jim asked, a smirk creeping on his face when I turned to look at him. He could see everything I could. We were practically one in the same, except he chose to be wicked and a bit poetic. He once told me that I was boring for “being on the side of the Angels.” I once told him “Fuck off.”

          I could hear the new student talking to Mr. Chastely. I was a bit bothered that I missed the first part of their conversation during my deduction. I could usually focus.

          “You’ll sit right in front. Second row, first seat.” The teacher specified, looking at the seating chart.

          “Don’t let the prat scare you off.” Moran blurted out under his breath. I willed my face not to flush.

          The boy stared at Sebastian. “Right. Thanks,” he said, ducking his head.

          “What was your name again?” Mr. Chastely inquired.

          “John Watson.” He replied in a short tone.

          “John Watson? Right. Okay.” He turned to address us. “We have a new student. His name is John Watson, and I trust you all will treat him _nicely._ That means you, too, Mr. Moran.” Chastely stated loudly for the class.

          I peered as John Watson took his seat directly in front of me. Miss Morals quickly walked over and sat one of the wrapped packages on the corner of his desk. He smiled at her, as the woman who was only a year or two older than the rest of us walked away, his steely blue eyes crinkling at the corners. It was only out of politeness, and was dropped quickly. _Of course an untrusting person wouldn’t try to make an attempt at a relationship with any substance,_ I thought. _Not that it would matter; she was shagging our ‘teacher’ and she needed her job too much to get fired for a student relation._ Mr. Chastely began writing page numbers on the board and John aptly open his notebook, leaning on his right hand while copying with a pen in his left. He was definitely left handed and the pen demonstrated that he did not have commitment issues. _Has trouble trusting but not committing._ It was a bit strange to me, almost strange. Didn’t people who had trouble letting others in usually have trouble keeping them in as well?

          “Sherlock,” the instructor interrupted. “Would you get Mr. Watson a book?” He never called me “Mr. Holmes,” something I noticed in the first week of class. It was most likely linked with his lack of respect for me due to him being corrected every time he made a mistake, which was constantly. It wouldn’t surprise me if Mycroft was going to be the only “Mister Holmes” the imbecile taught.

          I shrugged with indifference, standing and stumbling over the corner of my chair. _Stupid transport._ I supposed in my mind as I straightened. Of course, everyone laughed at the item of “hilarity.”

          I reached the shelf full of worn books, cataloguing every one of them, determining their previous owners. I looked for one that wasn’t treated badly, thinking John might appreciate the niceness of a newer book, though chances were that he would be just as simple minded as the rest of the room.

          As I reached over to grab a book, a whistle came from somewhere behind me, the echo making it impossible for me to locate. “I didn’t know you knew how to take that position.” Moran’s voice muttered low. Of course the two adults in the room did not notice, as they were probably scheduling their next shag with their heads so close together, hands on hand. “Thought you were a virgin. Unless Mycroft gets bored sometimes?” I contemplated how much trouble the teacher would put me in if I hurled the book at Moran’s disgusting face. Possibly expelled.  I recalculated. No, definitely expelled.

          “Can you not, yeah?” a voice defended me, freezing me in place. “Thanks.”

          I turned around to see Sebastian glaring at the back of John’s head, Jim looking somewhat surprised, which is probably what I let to be read on my face as well. I saw that Sebastian was looking for anything to say in return, searching for something that wouldn’t be generic and was actually clever with some sting. He didn’t know much about this knew subject and looked to Jim for help. He could tell him everything the two of us knew, which meant that we were probably about to have an argument that would challenge my brain. Exciting.

          “Are you used to diffusing arguments at home, Watson?” Moriarty started from the observation of the authority. “Mum and da get into it a lot? And what about your little sister? Is she still trying to party?” I could see a long, blonde hair identical to John’s on his plaid button-up that was probably not his mother’s; Moriarty saw the neglect in John’s physique and clothes. _Not eating well_ - _caregiver was not doing their job properly. Deadbeat guardians._ So a long hair meant sister. It probably wasn’t a girlfriend’s since John was a new student attending our school and wouldn’t be dating someone just yet, unless he was a master charmer who captured girls with his not unattractive, though simple, features within hours. Where Jim got the idea that his younger sister partied was beyond me, and I started deducing more thoroughly, looking for anything more just from his appearance. Small stains were splattered across the jean that spread over John’s thigh. _Ah. Standing behind someone while they vomited_ ; according to his caretaker tendency, possibly rubbing their back, more so probably holding back long blonde hair. It was someone helpless, someone younger: _a sister who liked to party._

          John looked back, opening his mouth to say something, but I interjected. “Have you and Sebastian broken up?” I knew Jim probably overlooked his boyfriend’s tinted lips out of denial, which was slightly unusual but not out of character for him. “Or have one of you taken to wearing lipstick?” Moriarty’s large grin turned into a small smirk as he turned forward and away from us, pointedly avoiding the sight of Moran, who looked disgruntled.

          Moran started to speak. “I haven’t-“

          “Turn to the pages in your books and do the work I just assigned about STD’s and partner safety.” Mr. Chastely interrupted, finally noticing that his students weren’t working.

          I returned to my seat, I crouching into it and handing John his book. A genuine smile spread across his lips.

 

++                

I opened the door to my rundown flat. How was it, that after being there for three days, it was already a mess, covered in liquor bottles and trash? I sighed heavily and made my way towards the back of the “home” and into my room, where Harry was still lying face-down in her bed, exactly as I left her that morning. I wanted to scream at her. Hell, I wanted to scream at anyone who talked to me. I started to when I was presented with the chance earlier, but then the kid with the posh name decided to do it for me instead. Maybe he didn’t scream, but with the words he chose, he might as well have. I didn’t need to get in trouble on my first day, anyway, but it was like anything could set me off. And I would have screeched, I was fully prepared to do so, but then the boy defended me. It caught me slightly off guard and made me feel less irate for a while. The irritability came back, though, and I definitely wanted to throw my younger sister out of her bed and literally kick the shit out of her for not going to school, or even bothering to _move_ from her sheets. I opted for tossing all of her possessions that found their way onto my bed at her until she moved.

            “Jesus, John,” a muffled and annoyed Harry spoke from under her sheets. “Quit it; I have a pounding headache.”

            “Yeah, well, maybe if you had actually come home at some time that wasn’t after four in the morning and were sober, you would be fine right now. You might have even had a nice first day at school.” I deadpanned.

            “Oh, come off it, John. I’m not going in on a Friday.” Harry hissed at me.

            “No, really. I’m very glad you find this all important.” I argued at her. “All the little parties you go to. I love it when I’m asleep and my drunk-and-or-high sister comes into our room in the middle of the night. It’s great. Really great. I would say do it all the time, but that would imply that you don’t already.” I finished dryly.

            “Are you done?”

            I felt only marginally better, but it was better none the less. I sat on my bed and glanced over at my sister. Her underfed body left her hips sticking out underneath the cotton shorts she wore, and I felt terrible all over again. I knew that she would dig herself into the same pit as our parents had, and she would probably dig further. The healing cuts on top of her hips peered at me as I heard a muffled argument being carried out in the room diagonal from us. It made me want to shout. Not at her, but at everything. I just wanted to have a full melt down right in the middle of the street, forcing people to notice that the Watson’s were not a functional family, forcing people to actually _do_ something about it. I thought about the boys earlier in health class, and the one who seemed to know my life down to a point stood out more so than the others. _How had he even known?_ I shook the question from my head and stalked out of the room, not wanting to pity my sister further than I already had. I tripped over a bottle, which made my angst flare even worse. I picked up the clear, glass container and headed for the front door.

Walking outside, I turned into the alley beside the building and threw the glass container as hard as I could into the side of the brick wall. It shattered into a million tiny _plinks_ and _tanks_ , which satisfied me slightly. _Maybe if I did this with every bottle, I would feel so much better._ I thought, but then remembered that people would be watching, and even though I wanted people to notice, I realized that it would be a bad idea. People would surely call the police, and I would get arrested for something stupid, and then Harry would probably get killed somehow, or worse: kill herself. Breathing deeply, I thought of a future where our mum and dad remembered they had two children to take care of.

I sighed and quickly reentered the house. The kitchen directly in front of me looked sadder than any of the other rooms. I began rummaging through the cupboards in search of something to eat for dinner. My parents rarely ever stayed home long enough to eat a meal with Harry and I; they were always out at pubs, spending whatever month my father got from doing… God knows what. I didn’t want to think about it. For as much as they argued and fought (sometimes physically), they got on pretty well. The cupboards were completely empty except for a bottle of vinegar and some croutons in a plastic baggie. I sighed weighed my options, and turned to the fridge. It was just as sorry, housing only a jar of banana peppers. There was one other thing I could do, but I didn’t want to do it.

I gathered myself and put a brave face on, marching down the hall and knocking on the door to the left. I pushed it open with my knuckles and braced myself. Smoke filled the entire room like a film. It was a mix of cigarettes and pot; it burned my lungs and throat. My eyes settled on the naked heap that was partly draped in sheets. My mother sat up on her elbows and stared through me with glassy eyes.

“Someone has to go to the shops.” I stated, feeling rather small.

Her dark eyebrows furrowed. “For what?” she huskily whispered through her hangover.   

“There’s no food.” I managed dryly.

“Just find something,” my mum spat, lying down again. “You’re good at that, right?”

“Mum, there is _nothing_ in there. At all.” I stated, pushing past my anger.

“So go _get something_.” She suggested, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

“Yeah, I never thought of that. I’ll just pull out ten quid and go shopping. Thanks.” I hissed, finally letting my irritation through.

I slammed the door, trying to make it as loud as I could possibly manage. Leaning against the wall, I fought tears back. They threatened to spill out of my closed lids. The bedroom door tore open, and I didn’t even care about the heavy weight that pinned me to the wall.

“What,” the gruff voice demanded of me. “Is your problem? You’ve been especially pissy.”

“Da…” I managed through a swallow.

The weight pulled off of me, and I could hear him sigh, his temper subsiding quickly. “Yeah. Look, I know the move has been hard on you. Sorry.” His voice murmured gently. He sounded very sincere, and I knew that he meant it, but it was still shit. “Here.” He pulled out a note, slid it into my hand, and returned to his room silently.

The tears began falling down my cheeks. Of course he didn’t actually get it; he was incredibly dim about the entire situation. He assumed it was just us moving that upset me. It didn’t occur to either of my parents that their lack of parenting was inappropriate. I became angrier and the tears fell faster. I opened my eyes and stared blurrily at the wall. _Was this going to be my life from now on? Sad and depressing?_ I was determined to not let it be. _I’m going to be something and not drill myself into a dead end life. I deserve more._

I pushed off of the wall and almost stormed out of the flat, but a tiny wail stopped me from opening the door.

“John.” Harry squeaked. I ran back to my original location and stopped. Another small sob came from inside of my shared room.

I opened the door and entered when Harry sniffed my name again. “John. I can’t breathe.” she clutched at her sides.

I jumped to her immediately. “What? What? Harry, what’s wrong?” I asked hurriedly. I lifted her tank top from her hands and revealed a large bruise that sat on her abdomen.

“I don’t know, Johnny. It just _hurts._ ” She choked out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS MAY BE A TRIGGERING CHAPTER (drug use and self-harm). I will post a summary in the notes afterwards so you don’t miss much if you cannot handle a trigger. Specific points will also be tagged in the writing if you’d like to actually read most of this without potentially ruining yourself.   
> * = trigger  
> ** = end trigger

+-

I concentrated on the flash of grey I twirled between my fingers. I remembered only bits of the last few hours. It was slightly difficult to see through the haze and past the holes in my memory, some points being clearer than others. That irritated me, being that I could remember anything I didn’t choose to forget. This, though, I definitely did not choose to forget; they were memories that were stolen from me.

\---

          _Sebastian approached my locker, guarded by two of his friends and Jim. I tensed immediately, knowing why they decided to chat with me. I catalogued everything I could, noticing who was standing where and in what position. I determined my chances of escaping, and they were slim due to their excessive brawn and a matched intellect._

_“Walk with us,” Jim cooed. “It’s dangerous out there.”_

_“Yes. Danger is unavoidable.” I stated coolly, giving a double meaning._

_\---_

 * I stared down at the blade in my hands and hiked my boxers up, picking a spot on my thigh. I searched my mind palace to make sure that I would not hit an important area that could possibly kill or permanently damage my nerves. Rechecking and finally satisfied, I dug the blade deeply into my skin. Sighing, I pulled it towards the right, slicing easily through the layers of scar tissue that existed beneath the knife. **

\---

          _We turned down an alleyway and I felt the free space around me tighten; the boys made a circle while Jim stepped back to watch. I felt like I should have reacted in some way, tried to escape or fight back, but the facts remained the same with every plan I thought of. All of the scenarios played out the same way, and it would have been a waste of energy to retaliate. I saw the first punch thrown and simply watched it make contact with my abdomen._

_\---_

* A thrill ran through my body. The adrenaline pumped in my blood; it was pleasing and distracting, but it wasn’t enough for me. I needed something else, something more dangerous. The crimson liquid poured out of my thigh, sliding onto the porcelain bottom of my tub. The cut felt like it was exploding at first, and then on fire when I poured the peroxide into it. It pleasantly bubbled, the white mixing with the dark red. The rush felt amazing, but it wasn’t enough. My eyes blurrily settled on the bottle sitting on the edge of the tub through the pain. **

          _I stared up into the sky, assessing my injuries mentally. Bruised rib. Exploded vein, will probably pool. Sliced forehead. Scraped hip.Overall, there was nothing serious that I should have been worried about. It would be useless to hide any of it from Mycroft; he would know immediately. Sighing, I sat up, but dizziness overtook me, and my back slammed into the concrete. Concussion, too, then. I could feel my heart screaming at me to let something break, to let some sort of emotion take control of me. I ignored it and slowly stood, brushing myself off and straightening my coat. I tried to overlook the constant connections my brain made in the alleyway, but it would not stop whirring. There’s a bar a block away from here: vomit covered the ground, people making it only this far before their bodies rejected the alcohol. I walked confidently towards the main road.Wants a divorce. Cars passed on the asphalt.Just moved out of parents flat. My shoes were terribly scuffed, and Mycroft would surely be upset.Teacher. Doctor. Unhappy. Cheating. Late. Single mother. My mind refused to stop._

_\---_

* I pulled the glass container over, clasping it firmly in my fingers. “Eight days,” I reminded myself out loud. “Is too long for me to be clean of anything.” I cared not about what Mycroft would say when he found me staring at a wall in my room, thinking deeply and accessing areas of my mind that didn’t exist when I wasn’t on a pain or cocaine high. I needed it. I needed to escape into the deep crevices of my over active intellect for a few hours; my brain denied the thought of being confusing when it was engaged with a drug induced overload, and that amused me greatly. It also made me forget that most of the time I wanted to stop thinking all together. The thought processes that ran through my head were constant, completely different from the one that came before it, and I hated how they stayed unorganized. Being disheveled physically was different from having your thoughts thrown about your head, leaving imprints on the walls they collided with. This is why I created my mind palace, to somehow get my ideas in an order, but it only worked for things that I wanted to _remember_ , not things that instantly popped into my head. This was why I liked being high: my thoughts had an order to them. **

_Plenty of people started at the slice on my brow that blood poured from.  I continued walking, ignoring them, not bothering to wipe off the dark liquid. It eventually dripped onto my shirt and coat, but I paid no attention to that. I reached the end of the town before I realized I was walking the complete wrong way. I believe that this is an opportune time to memorize London. I already knew most of the streets, but it never hurt to reinforce my memory. Night had fallen by the time I was finished, and the mobile in my pocket had been ringing for the past three hours. Indifference kept me from answering because I was aware that it was Mrs. Hudson calling, and I had no desire to speak with anyone, especially not the fussy old woman. It began raining, and I sat on the kerb. Puddles started to form, one specifically where I was seated._

_ Little-to-no wind: rain won’t stop for hours. Possibility of catching a cold: No more than in usual circumstances. Probability of catching pneumonia: 87%, a growing percentage as time goes on. Likeliness of dying from it if left untreated:? Chances that I’d care: 0%. I laid down on the cold and wet pavement and stared up at the starry sky, covering my forehead with my forearms. Constellations rattled through my brain, and I went about deleting anything that seemed unimportant, which was quite a lot. I loved the sciences, but not the useless ones, an example being astronomy. Chemistry and physics seemed much more practical, so I soaked up every bit of knowledge that I could about them. I would not need to know a constellation or which planet was the farthest from the sun if my life was in danger, but knowing if I could make an explosive within two minutes or the probability of me dying from a fall? That was useful. Astronomy was inadequate unless I wished to visit other planets, but I didn’t, because what kind of excitement would that even be? It would be so incredibly boring, despite the originality of space and the objects in it. People romanticized it to a degree of-_

_A shoe intruded my side. “Oi, what are you doing?” an overbearingly cockney accent bellowed at me through the sound of the rain making contact with everything around it._

_I let my eyes focus on the group of “chavs” above me. They peered at me, basking in their own stupidity._

_“What are you doing?” I could barely decipher what they were saying at me. It was more like “Wot ur u done,” and that was a bit annoying to me, but I managed to understand._

_“None of your business.” I told them._

_“You’re a cheeky posh one, aint you?” one of them babbled. I couldn’t help but to roll my eyes and scoff, which enraged one of them so far as to spit on me. I didn’t move and began ignoring them, running through more of my database._

_“Hey, get up.”_

_ Each of the suits on a deck of cards represents the four major pillars of the economy in the middle ages: heart represented the Church, spades represented the military, clubs represented agriculture, and diamonds represented the merchant class. Possibly useful._

_“Aye, I know you heard me, cunt.”_

_ The pancreas produces Insulin. Will definitely be useful, though slightly common sense to anyone past grade nine._

_“HEY!”_

_ Blonde locks of the girl who stole my notebook paper with a poor composition I had written in grade two. No._

_The shoe that was already buried into my side pulled back and intended to return. I rolled over, surprising the boy, and he fell to the ground next to me from the force and expectancy of his foot hitting something solid instead of air. That is exactly why I kept physics in its own room of my mind palace. I rose from the ground, and started running, taking the opportunity. I was beaten earlier, and I would not muse for a few inadequate opponents. I took the streets that led to my brother’s house, immediately losing my pursuers and knocking into people. I stopped on the doorstep and sat. I was drained and exhausted in both a physical and emotional aspect. I felt that I should have started crying after catching my breath, but nothing came. There was only an emptiness that appeared, intensified by being sopping wet. Though I did not look to see, Mycroft opened the door behind me._

_“You should come in, now.” He suggested softly to me._

_I did not answer, but stood and turned into the doorway, making my way past him. I ran up the stairs to my room and grabbed my supplies, locking the door behind me. I rushed into the bathroom that hung off my chamber with them and stripped down to practically nothing, placing myself in the tub._

_\---_

          * I traced my fingers over the syringe I had just filled. A list of reasons ran through my head of why I should just wait out my sulk, but I ignored it. Blood still spilled from my thigh, though it was beginning to clot. It would stop soon, so I sat the needle down and picked up the blade I placed on the edge of the tub. I made a mirroring slice in my other leg, splicing the pale skin into a bursting wound and letting it sit a moment before I poured the solution into it. I wiggled my toes to make sure I could still feel them, as the pain was blinding me and taking me into a different world. It felt reinventing. Leaning my head against the wall, I stared into the lights above me and squinted. A knock came to my ears, and I sat quietly, hoping that the man who made it appear would vanish and not come back to bother me. He must have picked the lock to my bedroom.

          “Sherlock, are you going to tell me what happened?” inquired Mycroft in a muffled voice.

          I scoffed. “Why bother asking? You already know what happened.”

          “You have a valid point.” He agreed and added, “May I come in to talk you out of what you are currently doing?”

          “Just leave.” I hissed in the direction of the door.

 I could hear the lock being tinkered with and I grabbed the syringe again, flicking at it to remove the air bubbles. _Twenty seconds._ I searched quickly for an accessible vein. One stood out very blue-green against my light skin. _Fifteen seconds._ I slowly inserted the needle. _Ten seconds._ I equally as slowly pushed the piston of the syringe. _Three. Two. One._

Mycroft pushed through the door. “Sherlock.” He warned. His eyes fell upon the empty needle that hung out of the crook of my elbow.

“Yes?” I raised my eyebrows defiantly, removing the slender metal from my body.

“Those will be needing stitches.” Mycroft said calmly, pointing out the cuts on my thighs. **

++

I lifted my sister from her bed and carried her out to the living room. She cried into my chest and clung to me when I tried to lay her down on the floor. I gently pried her fingers from my neck and searched for the phone, throwing things onto the carpet to move them from my path. I still heard the sniffles and gasping coming from behind me, and I was thankful; she wasn’t dead. The end table was soon devoid of any clutter that accumulated there and the dock for the phone was revealed- with no actual phone in it. I let out a frustrated groan and began flipping the cushions off of our sofa. I opened drawers and cabinets, still not locating the device. Looking under and on every surface, I started to panic. Breathing deeply, I skipped into the kitchen, peering at Harry over the small buffet counter. My eyes fell upon her rolling slightly with every small sob. Tears stung my eyes and I noticed the counter was clear except for one item. I quickly grabbed the phone and dialed on the key pad, but noticed that the three numbers never appeared on the screen; it only blinked “DISCONNECTED” every time I pushed a button. Out of anger, I threw the phone at the fridge and it separated into three pieces and I ran to Harry. I lifted her once more and flew out of the flat. I kicked at neighboring doors, trying to get anyone to open them. A few cracked ajar with wary eyes, but at the sight of the two of us, closed immediately. One opened fully.

“Please, please let me use your phone.” I begged, tears streaming down my cheeks. My voice cracked a bit.

 ---

I rode silently in the ambulance that came for my sister, sitting back and watching the paramedics. I observed everything I could from them. Every minor detail became greater to me, wondering the purpose every move served. Harry was still crying and I wanted to grab her hand to tell her it would be okay, but I wasn’t allowed to be any closer than I already was. The medics asked me to stay quiet so that they could hear the orders they were given by one another, so I couldn’t repeat it to her over and over; I was in pain because I couldn’t do anything to make it better. I didn’t even know if anything _could_ make it better. So, I merely watched as she sobbed into the mask they put over her mouth and writhed in pain.

 

 ---

 

They made me wait in the hallway outside of her room. I filled out all of the papers I was handed and realize that I should have said something to my parents. It’s not like they would have cared, but Harry was still their daughter. The papers asked questions like “Last time patient drank alcohol?” “Last time patient used recreational drugs? If used at all, what kind?” “Does the patient have any current or preexisting illnesses/conditions? Please include mental disorders.” and my heart broke. I actually had responses to apply to them. I filled the answers out with as most composure as I could. “This morning around 3am.” “Heroin, this morning around 3am.” “Depression, bipolar, insomnia, self-defeating personality disorder, asthma.” I clutched the clipboard and leaned against the wall, staring as others rushed past me.

I overheard a nurse talking to another. “How many self-harmers do we have in here tonight? It seems like there’s quite a few.” He stated.

“Well, we have one girl in here who’s not here for that. One of her vessels exploded. I think her name was Watson. We cut her shirt off of her and she had scars and slices all over her stomach and hips. Another one ended up burning his chest. His sternum got infected.” She answered. “There was also that kid we usually get in here. The cocaine one. He needs stitches in both of his legs. Again.”

“Yeah. I thought I saw Mycroft here.” He agreed back, nodding.

My head leaned forward off of the wall. I thought about the odd name, thinking it sounded familiar, but I shook it out when a nurse stepped from Harry’s room. I stood quickly.

“What’s wrong with her? What’s going on?” I probed hurriedly, thinking of the nurse mentioning vessels.

“Well, she has high blood-pressure. She ended up pooling blood on her diaphragm for a few hours after one of her blood vessels exploded. The pressure from the pooling ripped something inside of it and began bleeding in that as well. What was she doing when you found her?” she alleged, a concerned face pointed at me.

“She was just laying in her bed.” I answered.

“No strenuous activity?”

“No, not even before it. I mean, maybe like hours before but-“ I was cut off.

“How many? What was she doing?” the nurse asked quickly and sternly.

“Probably twelve. I have no idea what she was doing, but she was awake.” I muttered, my heart breaking.

The nurse had a knowing look. “Let me see her paperwork.” I handed the board to her and she flipped a few pages over. “She was drinking, then?” questioned the nurse.

I replied. “Yes.”

“Well, that would be the cause of the high blood-pressure. And she was taking drugs?”

“Yes.” I repeated. “Is she- will she be okay?”

“She’s fine; we got her cleaned out and patched up everything. Where are your parents?” she wondered.

“I’m really not sure.” I answered honestly.

She looked slightly confused, staring at the paper work again. “Their phone number?”

“We don’t have one.” I hissed more so to myself, thinking of the phone I threw earlier.

“Right. Okay, well, she should be released on Sunday. We want to make sure that she’s fine, and everything stays that way. We will move her some time tonight to a new room.” She nodded and walked away, greeting a nicely dressed man. He smiled politely at her.

“How much blood did he lose?” he asked.

She hesitated for a second. “Enough to make him paler than usual. He’s needs a blood transfusion. I have some papers for you to sign.” I slid down and closed my eyes, leaning my head once more against the wall.

“Yes, thank you.” He answered back to her in an emotionless, polite voice.

She tried to lighten the mood and opened with a feathery tone. “I mean, we’ll do it if we can find a vein large enough in that boy; he so deficient in iron, it amazes me that he’s still alive.”

“He refuses to eat properly.” He commented to the nurse, spite dripping from his words. He started again in a worried voice. “I’m not sure what to do with him, Anthea.” It slightly surprised me that he knew her by name.

“You’re doing everything you can with him.” Anthea assured him sweetly.

“I suppose. But he won’t talk to me about anything that goes on with him. I mean, I _know,_ but he still will not come to me for assistance. He worries me” The man sounded as broken as I felt.

“He’s just being a teenager, Mycroft.” I mentally nodded; he was the man tied to the ‘regular.’

“Yes well, he insists he’s not and that he’s ‘perfectly in control.’ At least that’s what he screamed at me on the drive here.” Muttered Mycroft.

“Have you thought about-“

“Counseling? Of course I have, and it would never work. He would refuse to go. Besides, I don’t want to make him think that there’s something wrong with him; people tend to do that enough as it is.” Mycroft said, his voice coated in malice and regret.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You know that, right? I just thought it would help him cope.”

“It wouldn’t though, would it?”

“I guess not,” She supposed and then began in a hushed tone. ” Mycroft, he also had a concussion. He’s a super smart kid and he’s bound to get picked on… People may be giving him trouble at school.”

He sighed. “He was in a fight, I know. I know all about everything. He doesn’t tell me, but he doesn’t have to.”

“How do you do it? If that was my baby brother, I’d crack under so much pressure. Not to mention your job.” Anthea cooed genuinely.

“I have always taken care of him, in a sense. My mother was an excellent parent, not at all incompetent, but I was always the one who swept his room for clues, or told her when she should.” Mycroft bounced back.

“Yeah.” The nursed sighed. “Okay, well, I have to enter some files and I’ll bring you the paperwork.” I opened my eyes to see Anthea kiss Mycroft on the cheek and walk over to the receptionist desk and enter Harry’s details. I watched Mycroft stride to the chamber that neighbored my sisters, and then immediately rush back out and towards the nurse station.

“Anthea,” he called. “Did you move his room?”

A confused look shot across her face. “No; we were planning to send him straight home with you after his transfusion.”

Mycroft let out a frustrated sign and turned. “He left. Of course he did. Don’t bother making an announcement. He’s no longer in the building. I’ll be back with him.” He jogged (which seemed out of character) towards the elevators and disappeared behind the closing doors, the bitterness almost a solid cloud around him.

 ---  
+-

I climbed through my window and grabbed a t-shirt and pyjama pants, ignoring the heat coming from my stitches. My phone sat with the charger on my night stand, though I left those –Mycroft would surely have activated the GPS he had installed- and hurried back out onto the roof, shoving the items into a grocery bag. I only had two minutes before Mycroft arrived. I slid off the edge and onto the lattice that ascended up the wall of the house, taking off in a run to the only place I’d be welcomed when I reached the bottom. I was thankful that Molly seemed to be helplessly in love with me, otherwise, I would have been sleeping in an alleyway that night. I was also thankful that Mycroft knew nothing of Molly; if he were aware her, he’d definitely check her house for my presence. I ran through the side streets and into a poorer part of London, feeling the February chill creeping into my bare skin. I located her muddy-brown building within minutes and sprinted around to the side. Broken glass crunched under my bare feet, sending trills of pain through my body. There was only so much I could see before my eyes were betrayed by the dark. I cursed under my breath and opened her window, shoving it skywards and jumping up. I almost fell off of the sill and back into the alley from being light headed, but rebalanced myself and fell into the room instead. The figure in the bed sat up immediately. I lunged to cover her mouth.

“Shh,” I urged quietly, dropping the grocery bag. “It’s me.” I could feel her relax.

“Oh.” She sighed under my hand. “What are you doing here?”

I ignored the pain again in my stitches. “I need somewhere to stay tonight. I’m going to use your bathroom. You have a suture kit, correct?”

“Wait, what? For what? If you need them, at least let me do it. I mean, because you’d need them, you’re obviously-” Molly murmured, sleepily rubbing her eyes.

“Yes, thank you.” I commented quietly, my nose finally registering the contrast of the temperature and sending lines of mucus out. “I stepped on some glass outside of your window.”

She clicked her tongue. “Yeah. Some kid threw a bottle outside earlier. It scared the living hell out of me.” Molly scooted towards the end of her bed and stood. She opened the door to make sure her mother didn’t wake, then motioned for me to limp after her. She led the way into the bathroom, and gasped when I entered and closed the door silently. “Oh. Sherlock, you’re really naked.”

“I have pants on.” I said, slightly confused.                          

“Well, yeah, but- you don’t have a shirt or trousers or… anything, really. Just boxers.” She nonchalantly tried not to stare. _Dilated pupils. Hitched breathing._ _Fantastic,_ I thought. _She definitely finds me attractive, which is a good sign. She might even let me stay for a few days if I asked. I’d probably be on the floor for my own sexual safety, though._

“Yes, Molly. I know. Could you just fix me?” I said impatiently, sitting on the toilet and lifting my foot in her direction.

She swallowed and blinked, diving into a cupboard for their aid box. “I hope there’s no blood in the hallway.”

“Of course there isn’t.” She took my ankle in her hands. “I know what I’m doing.”

Molly bit her lip a little. “Could I get you to kneel over the bath instead? It’s hard to do anything from this angle.” She stopped. “I don’t mean….”

I complied quickly and moved towards the tub. I kneeled and bent over it, and she took my ankle again. “There’s still some glass in it.” I commented as she rubbed my pad with an alcohol-doused tissue to remove the surrounding blood.

“I see it.” She replied. We were silent for a few minutes as she cleaned my cut out and bandaged it. “It doesn’t need a stitch.” Molly concurred and I turned to sit on the shaggy rug. “Sherlock, you look really white. And you’re really cold.”

“I was just outside-“ I started.

“No, I mean like dangerously.” She pointed at my stitches. “How much did you bleed?”

I bit my bottom lip, ignoring her authorative question. She made me feel exposed and uncomfortable, which was very hard to do, especially for Molly. “I’m fine.”

“Sherlock-“

“No, Molly.”

“When was the last time you ate?” She asked daringly. Molly never usually was so bold as to interject me.

“I’m. Fine.” I spat at her. I could feel my face contort into an angry expression. I made to stand, but Molly tugged me downwards, and I fell easily due to the light headedness.

Her features softened, obviously hurt. “You’re not, though.”

* I huffed, exhausted. “No, Molly. Of course I’m not. They drained the coke out of me and I feel utterly useless and disorganized. Is that what you wanted to hear? That Sherlock Holmes is a broken object?” I could see her structures become increasingly upset, and I knew that it was unfair, but I continued anyway, not able to stop myself. “I had my emotional psyche physically assaulted out of me earlier. My brother refuses to let me do what I want and took me to a hospital to ‘fix me’ because, apparently, it is a bad thing to feel in control. I never achieve what I want, which is just _to be left alone_. I never want people to react to me, but they _always do._ I want people to forget that I’m alive and breathing and painfully here. I want for people to not reject me in a way that makes them want to torture me, but in a way that they completely ignore me instead. I want to stop my head from spinning with every detail I see, like how you tried to kiss Gregory Lestrade earlier and he pushed you away, likely saying ‘Let’s just be friends, Molly Marie. You’re too young for me, I’m in Uni, remember?’ I want to be able to forget everything. I want to drug myself into oblivion. I want to be stupid for the rest of my meaningless life. You know what I _truly_ want, Molly? I want to be dead.” She flinched at the venom I put into the word. “I want to die. I want to brutally kill myself because the rest of the world is filled with idiots who don’t _understand._ No one ever truly understands the pain that others go through. Sure, they can say it all that they want, but they will never know. The only person who understood was Jim Moriarty, and even he betrayed and rejected the closest thing I ever had to a real friendship. I want to slice open my throat and quickly bleed out. I want to tie heavy objects to my ankles and drown myself. I want to jump onto an Underground track and let a train run my body over. _I want to shove a pistol in my mouth and pull the trigger, have the first bullet not kill me, and then try again, successfully shoving myself into the depths of hell the second time around._ ” We were both crying. I wished she would lean over and hug me, but she knew me too well and likely understood that under any normal circumstance, I would have pushed her away. It was strange for me to crave human contact, but the circumstances were altered in the situation. Thankfully, she wasn’t as dim-witted as I thought and crawled over to my side and pulled my face into her neck. Our sobs mixed, and I felt embarrassed and angry with myself for allowing her to unlock this part of me. I let her comfort me, and for once in my life, I completely let myself go, letting the emotions wash over me wholly. **

“Sherlock,” She whispered after we both calmed down. Tears were still flowing down her face, but her voice was steady enough. “You know that Jim was never your friend, or even close, right? He was never nice to you and always did horrible things to you before he even started becoming close with Sebastian.”

I nodded my head, exhaustion over taking my body. _Stupid bodily functions._

Molly continually meant to say something, but no words escaped her chapped lips. “Sherlock,” she repeated. “If he-. Jim-. How come-. He was the closest thing to a friend?” I understood what she was sputtering about.

“Molly, you are the only constant in my life. We aren’t really… friends, not really. You’ve just been here for a very long time. So far, you’ve been the only person who has accepted me. I honestly can’t,” _refuse to_ “remember how you came into my life, and you’re just… here.” I muttered into her collarbone. It was very true; we weren’t friends. I didn’t have friends. According to social norms, friends told each other everything. Friends did things together. Friends made sure that friends were safe from themselves. Friends didn’t awkwardly climb into each other’s bedroom windows when they haven’t talked in months to escape from potential rehabilitation. I wasn’t sure what Molly and I were, but I was certain that we weren’t friends.

“Oh.” She managed.

“Molly, please. I do appreciate you,” I realized just at that moment. “I’m very happy that you’re whatever you are to me. Relieved, actually,” I thought a second. I searched my brain and realized that Molly had her own box shoved under a bed within an unused room in my mind palace. I opened it and things of sentimental value poured out. “Molly,” I tried. “If it makes you feel any better, I think that we are soul mates.” She tensed beneath my face. “It’s not a romantic sort of way, though. Soul mates don’t have to be romantic; they just have to make each other feel human when they need it.” I hated sounding so slushy.

“Sherlock, you don’t have to say that. It’s not true. We’re not friends or soul mates.” She interjected, sounding a little crushed. “I’m just your ‘here,’ and that’s okay. It’s okay. Honestly.” She murmured the struggled words more to herself than to me.

And right she was. Molly Hooper was my ‘here,’ and I didn’t argue to make her feel better about it as we stood and walked into her bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much, Sherlock leaves school and Moriarty and his hang show up and "offer to walk him home." They actually beat the shit out of him and leave him there. Sherlock starts to walk home afterwards dejectedly and is confronted by a group of more assholes and ends up running home and away from them. (wow the summary makes this sound really fucking dumb) He goes to his room and then locks himself in his bathroom and starts to cut himself and shoots up. Mycroft finds him and takes him to the hospital. John is waiting for news on Harry and eventually sees Mycroft and witnesses him in a moment of weakness. Eventually, Sherlock escapes the hospital, unbeknownst to anyone, and goes to Molly's house. Molly being Molly is like "Yeah sure. Stay here. It's cool." and does a Molly thing and eventually Sherlock has a meltdown and admits to being suicidal.  
> And that's what you missed on Glee.


	3. Chapter 3

+-

I awoke before Molly did and stared at the poorly painted fuchsia ceiling while her body crushed the top of mine. Cuddling. It slightly revolted me, but I realized that I insisted on her contact last night in the bathroom. Still, that was last night, and at the moment, I wanted nothing more than to pull my frame out from underneath her. Her face was stuck to my still bare chest, her warm breath heating my cool skin. I could hear sounds of other people waking, a coffee pot whirring, the opening of the bathroom door, and-. _Oh no._ I slipped Molly off of me and dodged towards her closet, snatching the grocery bag that still contained my pyjamas on my way into it. I heard her door creak open as I shut the one in front of me.

“Molly,” a woman’s voice asked, a rasp present, but not one induced by sleep. _Smoker._ The flat didn’t smell of smoke, though. _Outside smoker. Considerate._ “Molly, sweetheart.”

I could hear Molly sigh and respond in a sleep-coated voice. “Yeah, mum?”

“Molly, why is there bloody toilet paper all over the bathroom?” her mother inquired.

The room was painfully silent for a few moments. _Please say nosebleed. Dear god, Molly, say it._ “What?” the bed springs made a groaning noise and Molly probably sat up.

“The bathroom, dear. It’s got toilet paper all over it with blood.” The closet smelled faintly of detergent. I couldn’t make out any of the garments.

 _Molly, now would be great._ “Oh, right. Yeah. I had- I had a nose bleed.” Molly said in a voice that made me cringe; she sounded so unsure of herself.

“Oh, Molly,” I could hear footsteps walk over to the bed. “Are you okay? What happened?” the voice became over protective.

“No, mum. I’m okay. I just woke up with a bloody nose. It’s n-“

“Do I need to take you to a doctor?” her mum asked in a worried tone.

“I’m fine. Really.” Molly insisted earnestly.

“Okay. Well, I’ll clean it up, honey. Stay in bed; I’ll bring you some breakfast.” The overbearing voice spoke sweetly. _Her mother babies her more than Mycroft does me._ The footsteps receded to the entrance again and it closed. I bounded out of the door in front of me immediately.

“Thank you, Molly,” I breathed as I quickly stepped into the pyjama bottoms and pulled the cotton shirt over my head. Her room was unbearably pink and filled with fluffy items. “But I really must be off.” I bounced over to her magenta covered bed where she still looked slightly jumbled. I bent in and kissed her cheek as a sign of thanks; I confused myself a small amount with the gesture, but scampered to the window without another thought. I paid careful attention to the ground as I slid over the sill on my stomach, and Molly leaned over it from her mattress.

“Sherlock?”

I placed my feet with care. “Hmm?” I hummed, not really paying attention to her.

“Are you actually going to tell me what happened? I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want.” asked Molly, wanting an explanation. She possibly felt closer to me after the night before and thought she deserved clarification.

I contemplated as I stared at her sleep-riddled eyes. I opted for the truth. “No. No, I probably won’t.” I could see her entire face drop. I looked away and took off in a sprint, feeling the stitches stretching and protesting against the cotton that spread over my legs. I stopped running and brushed the ever-growing crowd from my path on the pavement, a deep pain thrumming through the entirety of my body. I knew it was only a matter of minutes before Mycroft located me, and my options were agonizingly low. I had no escape plan in mind as a sleek car slowed and followed me from the road. My breathing began pacing out of rhythm and my heartbeat quickened. My eyes betrayed me and refused to focus on anything I laid them on. I could feel the ache in all of my muscles intensify ten-fold, and it quickly became a problem to my progress. My head spun out of control and the legs beneath me gave out and left me gasping on the chilled concrete.

 ----------  
+-

                My head continually slid off of the wall and onto my shoulder, pulling me out of the small dozes I fell into. I had been in and out of sleep for hours in Harry’s room; they never moved her like they said they would. I was completely exhausted and felt that I should go home for a shower. I sighed and turned my head to the right and stared at the peacefully sleeping Harry. She looked content and so very innocent, a side I rarely saw of her. Even when she slept at home, she never looked so relaxed. Creases of pain usually spread themselves across her face. _Must be the medicines._ I thought. It was still different, I decided, from when she would pass out from the number of drugs she took herself, because she actually looked comfortable in the hospital bed. For the first time in years, Harry Watson looked _happy._ I had no idea why, but she did.

            I stood and padded across the tiled floor in my wrinkled clothes. I pulled the door open towards myself and a stretcher rushed down the hall way, surrounded by a flurry of nurses and paramedics, Anthea being among them. She opened the door and used the stopper for the room over for a quick access. Mycroft trailed behind the mass of people that barreled past the door I stood in. I got a quick glance at the young boy who was laid on the cotton sheet, a mask placed over his mouth that mirrored the one Harry donned the night before. Curls poked out from the sides of the oxygen cover, and then he was gone from my sight.

            Anthea said in a clear, loud voice. “No, Mycroft. You know the rules.” He stopped directly in front of me.

            “I wish your sister well.” Mycroft mumbled, staring at the closing door Anthea disappeared behind. The look of agony vanished momentarily and was replaced with repentance. He composed himself quickly.

            “Excuse me?” I queried in a confused tone.

            “Hmm?” he turned to me, raising his eyebrows; he was pretending he never said anything.

            I breathed deeply and ignored the oddity of the situation. “I hope your brother will be okay.” I stated quietly and sincerely, staring directly at him. Mycroft looked taken aback for a moment, and returned to his stony, polite expression.

            “Yes. Thank you.”

            I sidled past him and headed towards the elevator lobby.  The nurse’s station looked practically empty; it seemed that every one of them was sent to tend to the teen that had just come in. I pressed the down button and waited for the lift to reach the floor I stood at. It seemed odd that the boy got put into the same apartment. Maybe he came often enough that he had his own official room. The doors opened in front of me and I stepped into the chamber, pressing the button for the main floor. I pondered on one particular thought: why would he leave? What purpose had it served if he would just end up in the hospital, anyway? He should have surely known that. _Idiot._ I muttered in my head. The lift doors opened and I strode out of them, pacing through the lobby of the main floor. I exhaled and mentally prepared myself for the long walk home.

 I desperately wanted to avoid the conversation that I convinced myself I had to have with my parents. It would not go over well with them, or what I thought would be well. The two parties would turn out to be increasingly upset with the other until one of two things happened: me storming away or them throwing me out. I slinked through the city until the alleyways became shadier and the people thinned out. The buildings converted from shiny and modern to dull and poorly cared for. My surroundings grew more and more depressing with every step I took, the cold air not helping at all. I approached my uninteresting building and stepped into the main doors, climbing the stairs up to the second floor. Breathing deeply, I entered the flat. The door only opened partially, and I poked my head around the knob. I peered downwards and saw my father lying in a pool of what could have only been his own vomit. Rolling my eyes, I squeezed my body through the crack that the door and frame allowed and headed for the room in the far back of the apartment. I grabbed a set of new clothes and made my way to the bathroom.

“Johnny,” my mother called from the room behind me. “Johnny, is that you?”

I turned and opened the door to their bedroom. “Yeah.”

“Did you just get home? You left for the shops yesterday.” She squinted at me from the bed she sat on.

“I didn’t go to get groceries.” I retorted, slightly annoyed at how dim she was proving herself.

“After all that bitching you did?” she spat angrily and laid down.

I was not in the mood for her at the moment, so I left the room and crossed the hallway.

 

 ----------

 

After my shower, I found enough courage to reenter my parent’s bedroom. My father had made his way into the bed. I took a deep breath.

“Harry’s in the hospital.”

“What?”

I swallowed. He sounded angry. “She had some internal bleeding. High blood pressure.”

“Why would you do that?” my father was sitting up at that point. “You just- just _sent her off?_ ”

I could feel anger bubbling inside of me, but I kept it under control. “She would have died if I didn’t take her, dad.”

“John, do you ever think?” the use of my name made me wince; he hadn’t called me by it in weeks. 

Shock over took my body and I stared at him for a moment. “Dad, she was going to die! She actually almost did; they had to revive her.”

“Oh, did they?” He stated bitterly, standing up.

“You do realize that this is your daughter and youngest child you are talking about, right?” I nearly yelled.

“And _you_ realize that her funeral would have been cheaper for our living?”

I froze. My brain refused to function after being immensely dumbfounded. My mouth hung open and I could not believe what I had just heard. An exhaled breath exited my lungs and it sounded like an incredulous laugh. _He really just said that._ I turned on my heel and replied in a surprisingly light voice for how angry I had been. “She’ll be back tomorrow. I, however, will not.”

With my head shaking tensely, I sprang the two feet towards my door and whipped it open. I located one of the not-exactly-empty boxes from the move and tipped it over, spilling the contents of it on the floor. It was all Harry’s. I yanked open the broken dresser and shoved my clothes haphazardly into the box. There was still room on the top, so I bent over the pile of my anatomy notebooks that were lying on the floor and grabbed the entire stack. My school bag sat next to them, and I slid it in between the side of the cardboard and the rest of the contents.

“What the fuck are you doing?” my father asked from the door way. It slightly surprised me that he pursued me. When I didn’t answer and kept throwing more clothes into the open spaces on the sides, he became incredibly angry. “You’ve got nowhere to go.”

“I’ll find somewhere.” I responded in a hollow, short voice.

“Listen,” he lunged and grabbed my collar. “You won’t-“ I cut him off by shoving him away from me.

“No, _you_ listen,” I spat in the most confident voice I think I had ever managed when speaking to one of my parents. “This ‘family’,” I drew quotes in the air, “that we have? It’s been slowly tearing me apart for all my life. You and mum have never been supportive in any way, you’re bloody awful parents. Frankly, I don’t think you deserve me as your son. I have never once complained about your stupid drinking habits or the arguing that you never seem to stop or, or all of the drugs you’ve left lying around for Harry to pick up. Do you know that’s why she got sick?” I was practically yelling, trying to keep my voice sturdy. “She drank way too much and ended up sending her blood pressure skyrocketing. I have never questioned you and let you do whatever you want, including abandoning us. I’ve had to play parent all of my life to make sure Harry doesn’t end up murdering herself, to make sure that we still had a dinner when you and ‘mother,’” I nearly spat out in fury. “Were off fucking around. I’m more of a father than you are, and I’m not even eighteen yet. Harry is my _little sister_ , not my daughter. I have done your job for you and raised her, and I couldn’t even do it effectively because you’ve enabled her to destroy her life. I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back, not even for her, because it’s obvious that all of my efforts to keep her clean will just be ruined because you can’t be responsible in any-“ I wasn’t even close to being finished with my rant when he took a swing at me.

I effectively dodged it, but he kept coming at me, throwing punches constantly and not letting up on the power he used. If he even grazed me, one of my bones would have broken and I would have been sent flying. At the end of one of his throttles, I managed to throw a punch back at him. My fist connected with his cheek and he staggered backwards. When he found his balance again, he lunged at me, aiming to shove me at the ground. I avoided his main blow, but my father had a fistful of my jeans and still ended up pulling me down to the floor. He continued to claw at me, but I succeeded in wriggling from his grip and ran for the door. I sprinted through the hallway and to the front of the flat, wrenching the door open when I got there and stepping over the puddle of vomit. Shooting out of the frame, I looked back to see that my father had not followed me immediately. I faced forward and made contact with something solid.

“Oh, sorry.” A mousy voice squeaked at me before we even tumbled over.

“Shit. Sorry.” I groaned at her from the floor, removing my eyes from the ceiling. I glanced at her small frame and then to the papers that surrounded us on the floor. “Wow. I am really sorry.” Sitting up, I gathered some of the papers and noticed the blue words inked on them. _…and I want to kiss him better. He seems so sad and in need of someone. I want to be that someone, but he doesn’t think of me that-._ The leafs I held in my hand were snatched away, and I never finished the sentence. A pair of large, brown eyes bore into mine with a worry that I had read too much. My father appeared in the doorframe with the box I started packing. He dropped it and closed the door, clicking the lock in place.

My brain screamed, and I set my back against the floor again, digging my palms into my face.

“Did you,” the girl started quietly, kneeling next to me. “Did you just get kicked out?”

I wanted to cry and make a fool of myself, to start sobbing uncontrollably in the presence of this random girl. Instead, I replied to her. “Yes. And I have no fucking idea what to do.” I admitted. I didn’t expect her to respond to me or even care, and she didn’t immediately. She just continued to gather the papers and small note pads, according to my hearing. I needed someone to rant to in an incredibly bad way. I heard her stand and the papers made a smacking noise as they were set down on something glossy. A hand weeded its way underneath one of mine and pulled it away from my eyes. The end of her light brown pony-tail hung over her shoulder and the sight of her determined, awkward face pulled me out of the dizzying state of my mind.

“Are you okay?” the small voice cooed at me, biting her lip nervously.

“Yeah, I just- I just don’t know.” I hesitated, feeling completely overwhelmed.

            “Do you… want to talk about it?” asked the girl in an unsure manner, kneeling next to me once again. She actually used that tone quite a bit.

            “Not really. I can deal with it.” I remarked in a strangled tone. Why wouldn’t she drop it?

            “Honestly? Because you seemed really stressed.” she answered my unspoken question persistently. “I know how it is to be anxious a lot and-“

            “Leave it alone, yeah?” I hissed at her in irritation. She flinched and leaned back on her heels a little bit, chewing on her lip. I felt slightly guilty for it and expected her to leave me on the floor when she stood up.

 “Wanna come burn some stuff with me? It’s actually very relaxing. I need to get rid of these anyway; they keep me holding onto something… hopeless. It’d be cool to have some help. There’s so many of them.” Rambled the small girl in the over-sized coat that stood before me in a hesitant yet genuine tone.

I blinked in astonishment. “Yeah, I guess.” As I sat up, she lifted the box from the floor. I was afraid that she would fall over, so I stood instantly and took it from her. She shot me a weak smile and ascended the stairs quickly, her hair swinging wildly. I followed her, making our way onto the roof. Puddles on the top shone in the sunny light. The girl sat on the ledge of the building and swung one of her legs over the side, her puffy winter coat making her appear even more child-like. She looked extremely uncoordinated, and I started to feel a pit in my stomach, as if she would fall off.

“Maybe you should come off of there, yeah?” I suggested at her, setting the box down in a dry patch.

She opened her mouth a small amount and slid off of the lip and sat underneath it instead. Leaning over, she grabbed the pile of papers and notebooks in the box that belonged to her and pulled a long lighter from of her coat pocket. For a moment, she read the words on a sheet that she held, and then clicked the flame underneath it, charring the corner brown, successfully sending licks of orange up the side. When the flame reached her fingers on the top left corner, she let it go, the leaf of ash drifting away and down to the street. A relaxed breath left her lips and she gazed at me. I quickly sat down across from her and removed the lighter from her hand, snatching a page from the heap between us. I mimicked her actions and felt a small amount of relief float away with the wisp of ash.

“Why’d you get kicked out?” the girl questioned, holding her hand out for the lighter.

I passed it to her. “My parents are hard to get along with.” I explained, shoving my hands into my jacket, not wanting to actually talk about it.

“Oh.” Said the girl in a small voice that was coated in an untold apology tinged with guilt. She released the burnt paper and passed me the igniter.

We continued with the paper silently until the sun started to set. We only got through half of the stack of loose sheets and the books remained untouched.

“I’m Molly Hooper.” She blurted awkwardly like it was supposed to mean something else as she collected her emotional baggage in her tiny arms.

“John Watson.” I croaked. I cleared my throat and lifted my box, shifting uncomfortably.

“We’ve been up here for hours,” she hesitated. “I’m starving. Are you?” Molly asked in what seemed like a hopeful and eager voice and turning towards the door of the roof.

I decided to play her game and followed her to the stair top. “A bit, yeah.” I lied. I actually _was_ starving after not eating for two whole days.

“My mum’s making lasagna tonight. You should eat with us.” Molly replied quickly, as if it was going to prevent an answer that she didn’t like, bolting off of the first step.

“Thanks. Yeah. Yeah, that’d be cool.”

Together, we skipped down the steps to the first floor of the building. She banged on the door closest to the entrance and waited a moment. It opened and revealed a woman that looked almost identical to Molly, save the dark blonde hair and green eyes. Her eyebrows lifted at me for a second and then she turned to Molly.

“Oh,” she sighed, sounding exactly like Molly. “Who’s this?”

The girl next to me slid past the woman, shrugging off her coat at the table, and I followed, hoping to reduce the awkwardness somehow. “This is John. John, this is my mum.”

I smiled and nodded at her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” The woman breathed at me, passing into the kitchen and then returning with an extra plate. She set it down on the table directly to our left. “What do you have there in that box?”

I swallowed. “Oh, uhm.”

“He got thrown out. He lived in a flat the floor above us.” Molly explained for me. I was slightly grateful for not having to do it myself, but it made me squirm uneasily.

Immediately, the woman pounced on me with her words. “Oh, you poor dear. Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?” Worry whitewashed her dialogue.

“Oh, yes, actually-“ I began, but then Molly broke me off, revealing more than I’d have liked her to.

“He doesn’t. He’s just saying that.”

“I insist that you stay here.” The woman specified confidently.

“That’s very nice. Thank you.” I said hesitantly. I sincerely hoped that these two women weren’t completely insane and had just forced me into my own death trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so in love with this chapter. I think I still am. <3


	4. Chapter 4

+-

I could sense drugs in my system as my head spun in circles. The fluorescent lights above my head were glaringly bright and my body seemed out of balance. A clean and sterile smell entered my nose. _Hospital room._ I felt a sore pain in my right arm. _An IV was in there at some point. Probably drawing blood for tests._ My eyes laid extremely heavy in their sockets and a splitting headache ruled my senses. Taking care with my breathing, I sat up experimentally, opening my eyes; it was easy enough. _I should be leaving today._ A nurse walked in carrying a tray of food with her. It was the nurse that Mycroft was always fond of. _No dark rings around her eyelids. She got enough sleep. Must be single and not bothered with overly social friends. Lives alone._ It would fit Mycroft’s schedule. _Only needs one job- no trivial spending, seen in the lack of jewelry and inexpensive products she used. Couldn’t be that she just spent money she already had, like old money- wears a quickly made up face and simple trainers._ Mycroft liked women with simple tastes. And fantastic culinary skills. _Parmesan chicken for long lunch earlier and just came from her short break after eating homemade biscuits. Must have been delicious according to her light mood._ The proof of the biscuits was presented on her scrubs and the parmesan chicken was from overhearing her talk to another nurse, though a drop of sauce still remained on the corner of her mouth, but it could have been mistaken by me for another type of red-sauced food. I thought to ask Mycroft if he was going to make an attempt to date her just to irritate him, but he might have taken it seriously and gone after the poor woman.

“Good morning, Sherlock.” Anthea sang in a cheery voice, sitting the tray on my swinging side table.

“If you keep making those cookies, you might have a new fan. A dull, meddling one who always cheats on his diets. You might also need to get one yourself if you continue eating them.” I grumbled in a medicated voice.

“He saves your life every time. I’m sure you’re aware of that somewhere in that arrogant head of yours. Don’t take him for granted.” She still sang as she floated around my monitors and wires. “And I made the cookies _for_ your brother. I happened to enjoy one myself because he wanted to share with me. It’s my condolences to him for putting up with you.”

Trying to seem uninterested, I let out an exaggerated breath. It hurt slightly, not because of my breathing, but because of the implication that I was a problem. Of course I was, but it shouldn’t have been so evident that someone made Mycroft _food._ She swung the table over my lap, and I pushed it back.

“So, you want to tell me what happened?” inquired Anthea in a more serious note, putting an already prepared IV to my arm. _Mycroft obviously told them I wouldn’t willingly eat._

“No.” I responded bitterly, yanking my elbow from her.

“Well, you can tell me when you’re mind-numbingly bored from being strapped down. Let me give this to you. You’re not going to digest, so it won’t ‘slow you down.’” Anthea explained in a tone that sounded like what an eye roll would be if it were an audible action. “Or you could physically eat, you know. You’d probably be less cranky.”

I made my face indignant and stared at the wall, refusing to use my voice. Familiar light footsteps approached my door. _He probably washed and checked himself, not even considering that she would tell me._ The handle clicked and Mycroft stepped in the room. Anthea looked at him for some sort of help.

“Sherlock, you’ll end up dying if you don’t eat.” Mycroft quipped mindlessly and took a seat next to the window on the bench in his overly clean suit.

“Are you so sure that is not my goal?” I bounced back defiantly.

Mycroft responded. “Yes, because if you wanted to be dead, you would be.” He didn’t outwardly show his irritation, but I could see his eyes narrow the smallest amount and his grip tighten around his own hands.

I stared at Mycroft and observed Anthea inserting the needle into my arm out of the corner of my eye. I turned once more to the green wall that sat in my line of vision and let her tape the metal in my arm. I faintly heard a small moan come from the other side of the divider and then the slightest vibration reverberated around my room. Alarms went off in the hallway and Anthea froze for a millisecond and sprinted out. Mycroft watched as she left.

“She’s uninterested.” I mumbled untruthfully, settling back into the uncomfortable bed and cataloguing Anthea’s shampoo scent for later reference, just in case Mycroft ever managed to see through me and needed to know what she liked. I’m sure that he could have done the same, but he was still incompetent.

“And so am I.” Mycroft bounced back at me quickly. He didn’t use his dishonest voice, so I turned to him with a surprised look.

“You’re lying.”

“I assure you that I am not.” A triumphant smile spread across his lips. I tried to deduce him, but he looked no different than he normally did; he was accustomed to me attempting to scrutinize him and hid any change well. He enjoyed catching me off guard.

“Explain.” I spat, listening to the patient next door screaming an argument out through the muffling wall. None of her words were clear, and then Anthea joined in, growing louder.

“You first.”

Narrowing my eyes, I swung the table over my lap and started to pick the food apart, hoping to shut my brother up with the gratitude that came from me actually eating.

“Of course,” Mycroft agreed, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “Sherlock Holmes would rather eat than share about himself.”

The argument grew louder and more voices joined it. A _thump_ appeared against the wall, and I could hear the jingle of a security guard’s belt rush down the hallway. Mycroft watched the door intently.

“Bunch of fucking idiots,” Anthea hissed as she burst through the open door and slammed it. “Her parents came in completely _raging_ at the fact that we had her. They insisted on taking her home and even dragged the poor thing out of her bed. Then the father went ballistic and punched the damn wall and knocked some shit over when we told him that she would be wise to stay because she wasn’t ready to leave. It didn’t help that the girl is here because of her blood pressure being through the roof. I have to call services,” She was pacing throughout the room. “He also wanted to know if the brother came back, but he hasn’t been here since he left yesterday morning. God, I can see why he didn’t give us the phone number; the parents are fucking nuts. It’s times like this that make me want to just adopt all the children who have it rough because the parents like that utterly _blow_.” Anthea huffed and sat on the sofa next to Mycroft, leaning into his shoulder and holding the bridge of her nose. He rubbed her arm gently and patted her knee.

I scoffed. “Infatuation...” Mycroft sent a side-glare in my direction and Anthea seemed to not notice.

 

 ++

 

A vagueness clouded my sleepy mind. The plush beneath my back was wrong, the sound of sizzling food in a pan was wrong, the smell of the soft blanket wrapped around my body was all _wrong_. I was comfortable when I woke up and that _was so mind shatteringly wrong._ My eyes shot open and I stared at the cream coloured ceiling. I sat still for a moment before remembering where I was and why I felt well rested and just all around _good_ , as if “Good morning.” was finally an appropriate greeting to me, John Hamish Watson, the teenaged boy who’d never woken up to bacon being fried for breakfast. I was elated as I closed my eyes again, smiling to myself. It was weird to me that I felt at home in a flat I had never visited before, a flat that belonged to two women who were still strangers and had the most opportune chance to kill and eat me if they so pleased. But they didn’t, and I was still alive and everything was _good._

It occurred to me that if I didn’t want to see my parents anymore, I didn’t have to. They had thrown me out, and I was taken in by people who were more than willing to keep me, however odd they may have been. Instantly they wanted to make sure that I was okay and were trying to uncover and possibly fix the broken parts of me. Molly had quickly wanted to let me know that whatever I was dealing with, she would try to help me get rid of it; She must have gotten that from her mother, seeing that the woman jumped on me as soon as knew that I was homeless. _Were people always this nice? Or is it just a Hooper thing to be as helpful as possible?_ Either way, I didn’t care.

I opened my eyes again and almost jumped at the sight of a pair of large brown ones staring back. “Jesus, Molly.” I muttered. She blushed and quickly leaned away from me in her seat on the carpet next to the couch I laid on.

“Sorry,” she squeaked, looking sheepish. “I was just wondering if you were awake. Mum’s got eggs going...”

“Could have just said my name.” I trailed off, sitting up and letting the duvet fall from my chest. It was really pink. _I could have sworn it was red when they gave it to me, or at least less magenta._

“Oh,” She replied in her way of being Molly. “I didn’t want to wake you up if you weren’t, you know? Impolite and what not…”

I stared at her nervous, slight face, her eyes flicking from me to her lap. “It’s fine. Thanks.” I said, trying to make her feel less anxious about it.

A small smile played at her lips and she stood without looking at me, heading into the kitchen. I moved my eyes around the flat, noting more details about it. The couch I sat on was pushed up against the wall that was parallel with the large, plastic-“glass” window that looked over the sidewalk in front of the building, the television directly to the left of it, sitting in the corner and turned towards the center of the room. The edge of the sofa was even with the corner of the wall that when walked around, led to the kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms. On the other wall that was separated by the hallway was a buffet counter, which made a window, revealing the kitchen to the ‘dining’ room that sat in front of the main door; when you walked over the threshold and into the flat, you were instantly stared at by the round table that was underneath the buffet. The living room was to the right of the ‘dining room’, and the hallway inserted between the couch and table was exactly how it was in my old flat, save the kitchen entrance. Molly took the room directly straight from the entryway, her mother’s room the one on the left (after the archway to the kitchen), and the bathroom on the right.

“John?” Molly’s voice snapped me from my analysis. Her head popped around the corner. “Come grab a plate?”

I blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be right there.” And she disappeared. I looked up at the ceiling and sighed out of both happiness and awkwardness. Whatever life I was beginning that day, however uncomfortable it would start out, I was totally and utterly ready for it.


	5. Chapter 5

 ++

          Later that day, Molly and I went back up to the roof, grateful that it hadn’t rained between the time we did it the day before and the time we returned; it was actually very bright and somewhat warm for February, so I shed my jacket quickly and Molly lost her winter coat as well. The two of us were more comfortable with each other, though breakfast was quiet and awkward on my end. Thankfully, neither she nor her mother noticed because they talked frequently and excitedly, and I ate my eggs and bacon slowly to match their speed of consumption.

I lit another paper in my hand, chatting with Molly. “So, what grade are you?” I asked casually, giving her the long lighter.

“Eleven.” she answered quietly, almost trembling as she lit the page in her hand.

“Oh. I’m in grade twelve. Not quite eighteen yet,” Her nose was very red while the rest of her was pale. “Are you okay, Molly?” I inquired.

“Oh, yes.” She sniffed distractedly and handed me the lighter. Her hand was freezing.

“Are you cold?”

Molly looked at me and answered with her large eyes. “A bit, but I don’t want to wear the coat; it’s not cold enough for that.”

I leaned backward to grab my jacket for her and handed it across the stack of papers. “Here.”

“Oh,” Molly said in her returning tone. “No thank you, John.” She said politely, looking away from me.

I rolled my eyes and set it in her lap and went back to burning. “What exactly is written on these?” I queried curiously.

Molly’s face went a deep scarlet. “Oh, um,” she started nervously and laughed. “It’s really silly. Kind of something twelve year olds do. They’re like…” she hesitated as if I wasn’t going to actively listen to her, but my attention was on her fully. “They’re like letters and notes and diary stuff. About one of my guy friends.” I raised my eyebrows at her, wanting to hear more. She picked up another sheet and continued, averting her eyes to the page. “I sort of like him, possibly in love with him. Or I used to be. I got over it, I think. He made it clear that he wasn’t interested in me. He has from the beginning, but I  _really_  ignored the hints he dropped. It wasn’t until a few nights ago I realized I was chasing a phantom dream.” Her eyes started to blink rapidly. “He just- he always comes to me when he needs help, and I let that get to my head, let myself think it meant something, you know?” Her voice broke and she looked at me with tearful eyes. I swallowed; the entire situation quickly became awkward for me. Thankfully, she looked back down and finished her rant, not expecting anything from me. “Anyway, I need to get rid of all of that. It’s really hurting me to keep the thoughts. I don’t blame him, really. He’s never been close with anyone, so I shouldn’t be any different. I know that. He  _is_  my friend, though, because he actually acts like he likes me, or least as close as anyone will probably get to being liked by him.”

“Molly,” I began, taking the paper from her hands and setting it on the sand-paperish roof top. “That really doesn’t sound like a healthy friendship.”

She looked up at me, tears dripping from her jaw. “It’s… different. Really. He’s never had friends. He doesn’t know how to do it, be someone’s friend. He’s a very lonely person, and that’s because people refuse to let him be himself. They don’t accept him, they never have. I don’t mind his eccentrics, and in return, he doesn’t mind… well, me. And that’s good enough because he practically hates everyone.”

I stared at her for a moment.  _And she was in love with this guy?_  She looked away and grabbed the lighter from me, scooping up another paper to char. After it was swept away, she didn’t offer the igniter to me again and continued by herself. I almost felt offended, but then I realized that she needed this. She needed to relieve herself of stress, and I didn’t blame her, so I gazed at the warm sky, not letting myself dwell on her ignoring me. When I glanced down again, the paper I sat down to my right was still lying there, and I wanted to read it, but it wasn’t right. It was intrusive, and who would I have been if I’d done that? After Molly and her mother took me in? So I didn’t read it. I left it there, watching Molly put my jacket on. Another realization came to me; she vented to me. Molly made herself completely vulnerable, and she chose to do that with someone whom she had just met. Something told me that she was just as lonely as her friend.

Eventually she stopped crying and we started talking again, just about general topics; it gave me a chance to bring my theory up.

“So no girlfriend?” Molly asked, laughing at me making fun of myself for it.

“No. Being homeless isn’t exactly attractive. Got any cute friends?” I joked, trying to draw a sufficient answer.

Molly went quiet, a smile still present on her face. “Not really.”

“I’m not cute? Thanks, Molly. Does wonders on my self-esteem.” I jested at her, coaxing out another laugh.

“You’d consider me a friend?” she asked, seriousness over taking her voice and body language.

I was a bit surprised. “God, I’d hope so. You only all but forced me to live with you.” I smiled at her, finding myself trying to reassure her once again.

She smiled back widely and a small amount of blush filled her cheeks.

 _I may have just made a terrible mistake._  I thought. _Molly Hooper might have taken that as more than what I meant._

 

 +-

They released me at approximately 5pm from the wretched hospital room they insisted on putting me in. The staff told me to remember to eat and to attend rehabilitation, and I wanted very badly to tell them all to leave me alone, but Mycroft informed me he would force me into it if I was rude. So, I nodded my head blankly and followed my brother into the lift.

“Sherlock,” he began in his familiar smarmy tone. “I think you should visit some of your friends.”

I simply rolled my eyes; I knew exactly who he meant. “Sally Donovan and Gregory Lestrade are not my  _friends_ ,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “I talk to them at times, when I think they know something useful, but otherwise, I want nothing to do with either of them.”

“I think it would be a good thing for you, Sherlock.” He continued, staring at the opening doors and walking out of them. I made my face stony and followed behind him.

“You’re not listening.” I complained emotionlessly, though my mind raced with the thoughts of Sally constantly rejecting me whenever I would talk.

He didn’t miss a step when he looked over his shoulder and replied to me. “Neither are you. Call them and arrange something with them.”

I let an exaggerated huff escape my lungs as we exited the automatic glass doors.

 

 

“ _Hello?_ ” Lestrade’s voice came from the other side of the phone. I much rather that I called him instead of Sally; Sally was completely insufferable, and I tolerated Greg.

“It’s Sherlock,” I felt absolutely silly and pathetic. “Are you-“ I stumbled over my words. “Are you doing anything right now?”

The phone went silent, save for his quiet breathing. He spoke. “ _No, I’m not. Excuse me, I’m not trying to be rude, but this is a bit strange for me. Is everything okay?”_

“Mycroft wants-“

Gregory interrupted me. “ _Say no more. I was about to go up to the lab for some of my class work. You can come if you’d like.”_

I almost sighed in relief; he understood. “Yes, thank you.”

“Meet me-“

“At the front doors, yes, I know.”

 

 

As the cab drove, I stared absently out of the window at the people on the sidewalk, trying to keep my thoughts in order. Sitting in an unchanging room for quite a few hours helped to calm my mind down, but it still raced at the sight of anything different. I moved my eyes to the ceiling of the car, and read off what one of the previous occupants did instead.  _High heel marks and sweat prints from stands of someone’s hair. Sex._  I felt uncomfortable, shifting in my seat, knowing that the company probably hadn’t cleaned it. Thankfully, when I realized this, the cab stopped in front of the University Greg attended. I quickly threw a few notes at the driver (who drank heavily when permitted) and stepped out of the door. A pit settled in my stomach when I saw Sally and Anderson standing next to Lestrade.  _Of course he wouldn’t tell me if they were coming. By the look on their faces, he didn’t tell them, either._

“ _Him_? Greg, honestly!” Anderson spat out in a nasally voice.

“Don’t,” Lestrade warned coolly as I drew nearer. “Hey, Sherlock.” Sally scoffed and rolled her eyes, walking into the building.

I immediately told myself not to let the distaste show in my features. “Hello. Anderson.” I greeted neutrally. Anderson gave Greg an angry stare and followed Sally through the revolving door. Greg looked at me apologetically, and I shot a fake, understanding smile at him.

“Listen-“

I cut him off, shaking my head. “No, it’s alright. I’ll try not to talk too much. I have a few things I’ll be completely invested in, anyway.” I started for the swiveling door, but was caught by a firm hand.

“Don’t listen to them, yeah? They’re just a bit sore from last time.” Greg recalled. ‘Last time’ I addressed them stealing supplies from the lab to ‘enhance their physical intimacies.’

“Of course.” I responded, continuing into the door and approaching one of the elevators. I pushed the up button, and stepped in with Greg, noting that the other two took their own. We arrived on the floor that was made up entirely of the lab, which contained several experiment rooms and endless chemical identifiers and black-top, metal tables. We walked in the door, and Anderson’s face appeared flushed and was standing rather close to Sally, who sat on a stool. Anderson tried to look busy with the microscope in front of them, though his trousers said that he only recently took interest in the lens.  _This will be a very long night._  I thought. I sat my bag down on a table not too far from the other two, and pulled a few slides from the front pockets, shrugging my coat off.

“Okay, what do you guys want to start with?” Greg asked, sitting at the end of my table.

“Go somewhere nice today?” Sally ignored Greg and started on me as I rolled my sleeves up past my elbows.

I tried to respond as civilly as I could for Lestrade’s sake. He was, after all, being completely kind to me. “I try to look presentable at all times in public,” I mumbled, not looking away from the slide of dirt I had just inserted. “It helps when I want to appear respectable. People comply easier.”

“Yeah, until you open your mouth.” Anderson shot at me hotly under his breath. I could feel the three of them staring, so I looked up.

“Really, guys. Stop it.” Greg turned, urging at his friends.  _Missed a spot shaving this morning just under the ear._

“You didn’t tell him to stop when he tried to embarrass us!” Sally nearly shouted with pent up anger, sitting straighter in her seat.

Greg opened his mouth to respond, but I cut him off. “I was simply stating what I saw. There was no aim to it.”

“How did you even know?” Anderson continued with the interrogation, leaning away from the table.

“He just-“

“No, Greg, I want to hear it from  _him_.”

I inwardly sighed, knowing that whatever answer I gave, Anderson wouldn’t appreciate it. “I can see quite a bit. I look closer than most other people.” I shrugged with the barest explanation I could administer and looked back into the microscope.

“Oh? How many fingers am I holding up, then, if you can  _see_  so much?” he prodded at me.  _Using childish quips: youngest child._

“It’s not like I’m not psych-“

“Tell me, what happened today? Hmm? Sherlock? Tell me what I did all day.”

I bit my lip and looked to Greg for a moment before addressing Anderson. “Honestly, this seems like you’re trying to get me to say something,” I tried to talk in their speech patterns to appeal to them. “I just want everything to be okay betw-“

“And what you did the last time? That was okay?” Sally hissed in my direction. Since our first interaction months ago, she continually became sour towards me. At first, she expected me to be kind to her, like she deserved it from me; that, of course, was not the case, and I immediately rejected her to show how little I owed her, which didn’t flow too well with Sally. After that, she made a point to bring Anderson with her whenever she knew I would be present as a sort of back up. I tried to keep to myself as much as possible as a favor to Greg for not trying to chin me after I accidentally did the same to him; he was, after all, not completely ignorant and I actually  _liked_   him and wanted to continue to be on good terms with him. I was able to do that and he allowed me to visit the lab whenever he went. It was… nice, I have to admit. Sally and Anderson, though, ganged up on me at random times. I was usually able to ignore their petty comments, but I let myself slip the one time, the last time, and it really got under their skin when they realized that I was capable of humiliating them without thinking about it much. I truly did not care about their feelings, but it put a strain on Greg, which is not something he deserved from me. Feelings got in the way of everything, and feeling for Lestrade was a hindrance. It’s not like I wanted to, but I did; Greg accepted me, and that was a rare thing in people who knew me. Sally raised her eyebrows at me.  _Chapped, red lips. Dehydrated. Possibly from too much kissing. White stain on the side of her mouth- not semen. Milk?_  The four of us paused, the silence becoming quite loud.

“Come on. What did-?”

I couldn’t stop myself as the rush of words poured from my mouth in anxiousness. “You woke up this morning, shaved with a five day old razor, and then got dressed. You accidentally zipped your finger in your trouser fly and ripped a bit of skin off in your hurry to get out of the door. You were late for your group exam this morning, and that’s why you have to be here tonight, to finish part of it on the good grace of your professor because she has a sweet spot for Greg. Ate cereal for dinner, spilled some of the milk on your jumper. Tried to clean it off, but Sally… licked it. Not sure what possessed her to do that.” I stopped briefly and realized that I dug myself into a deep hole. I tried unsuccessfully- and quite awkwardly- to hoist myself out with a biting and a meant-to-be-funny remark. “Oh. She probably kissed you after that, correct?”

Both Sally and Anderson both looked dumbfounded. I felt the overflow of blood rise up my neck as Lestrade shook his head at me.  _Disappointed._  I returned awkwardly to my slide again and perceived someone rifling through their canvas bag.  _Sally._  Plastic slipped together.  _Slides of their own._  The plastic scraped against glass, and someone leaned into the microscope. Whispers carried silently to me. I stopped focusing on the dirt and heightened my ears.

“ _Why did you bring him? He’s fucking weird._ ”

“ _He’s having… a hard time right now. Leave him alone. Honestly, I thought his brother and I could make progress with him tonight, but you shitheads went and ruined that._ ” Of course Mycroft would have told him everything. He always liked Greg. Then again, so did everyone.

“ _Why even bother with him? He’s a freak. And a druggie, look at his arms. Bruised all to hell._ ” I flinched a small amount at Sally. I wasn’t expecting to be so emotionally compromised, and it hit a nerve.

“ _Exactly. Like, the whole him ‘seeing’ whatever is fine, but he’s a total asshole about it._ ”

“ _But he’s not, Anderson. That was actually him being incredibly nice. And you’re definitely not fine with him doing it. He makes you look like an arse and you don’t like that. Don’t be daft._ ”

“ _So that’s him not knowing how to be social, is it? He’s shite at it, if that’s his best attempt. No wonder you’re his only friend. If he can even call you that._ ”

“ _There’s something wrong with him, Greg. Cut him loose. He seems like one of those types that just randomly snap at school one day and shoots everyone up._ ” Sally dug deeper into me, and it definitely hurt. I wasn’t used to that; I normally kept my emotions locked away, traded in for numbness.

“ _Or probably would rather dissect everyone to death, based on some of the shit he said last time._ ”

“ _So he likes anatomy. So the hell what? That’s what you’re studying, Anderson._ ”

“ _No, I’m doing it to be on forensics, he’s doing it for fun. Who the fuck just pokes at dead bodies to see what happens?_ ”

“ _Scientists._ ” Greg replied angrily, louder than a whisper.

“ _Freaks._ ” Sally’s voice corrected.

I couldn’t bear to be talked about so casually no more than ten feet from me, so I snatched my slides and nearly bolted out of the door, shoving the pieces of glass into my bag. I remembered that I left my jacket on one of the chairs, but it honestly didn’t matter to me. Even if I wanted to retrieve it, I would have looked silly, and that’s something I could have done without at that point. Slinging the black messenger bag over my shoulder, I jabbed one of the elevator buttons.  _Well used. Science based curriculum, mostly, then._  I could hear the door creak open behind me.  _Gingerly. Slowly. Unsure of how to proceed. Greg._  I didn’t turn to face him and flitted into the moving chamber, selecting the main floor as my destination.

I didn’t want to admit it, but I was hurt. Deeply. I could usually ignore and push away ignorant comments, but this was different. They weren’t aiming to hurt me, obviously, as they didn’t outwardly voice their insults. The two were speaking the truth, and Greg tried to stop them, but his counterpoints were weak. He probably felt the same way, but something made him like me somewhat.  _Mycroft, maybe. He’s probably doing this for Mycroft._  And I almost laughed in pain-denial as the doors slip open in front of me.  _He wanted me to spend time with friends, so he sent me off to Gregory Lestrade, a man who is barely an acquaintance. I have no friends._ I thought about returning home, but immediately brushed it away by thinking about how Mycroft would react and considered staying out to create an illusion. It then occurred to me that Greg would tell him what happened, regardless, so not returning would be more suspicious.

Before I knew what my body was doing, I was talking into my mobile phone. “Hello, Molly.”

She stopped for a moment.  _Why do people become silent when I call them?_ “ _Oh. Hi._ ” She managed. Something was wrong in her voice. It made me realize how much of a terrible mistake calling her was.

“Right. Goodbye, Molly.”

 

 

++

            Molly leaned backwards after hanging up her phone. “That was quick.” I commented.

            “Yeah.” Molly trailed off, absently staring at the stack of papers.

            I hunched over to get a better look at her face. She was smiling a little bit, but something was wrong in her eyes. “Molly?” she jumped and looked at me, like she only just realized I was sitting across from her still. “Everything’s alright?”

            “Oh,” Molly muttered, and then spoke louder. “Yeah. Really good,” Her smile became genuine. “Let’s go down.”

            I pulled the stack towards me and lifted it as I stood. Molly grabbed her coat and followed me to the door on the roof, practically drowning in the navy jacket I gave her earlier. We walked down the steps, and I wondered if Molly was okay. She seemed excited and drained at the same time. I wanted to ask her more, but I was afraid that she’d turn me into her other guy friend and I’d end up trying to push her away forever. So, I stayed quiet and approached the bottom flat. Molly knocked like she did the day before, and it opened after the lock clicked. Her mother smiled at us and slid over to let us in. I followed her into her room to set the stack down and nearly gasped.

            It was, like the blanket I had earlier, very,  _very_  pink. The walls, the bed, the dresser- it was all pink. It ranged from baby pink to hot pink, and it was all very shocking. I stood in the doorway gaping and she removed the papers from my hands, dropping them on a low bookshelf tucked in the corner of her room. When she turned around, Molly noticed my face.

            “Oh,” she said. “Yeah. We have to redecorate. I’m a bit old for it now. Realized it a few days ago.”

            The mention of ‘a few days ago’ brought something to the front of my mine, and I tried to compose my expression. “When you realized that your friend-? “

            “Yeah. He was actually in here Friday night. It kind of put everything into prospective for me. Pink-themed rooms aren’t actually that impressive.” Molly replied blankly, staring at our surroundings. I made a noncommittal noise as she brushed past me, calling for her mum.

 

+-

 

          I had a splitting headache. I was experiencing withdrawals from the cocaine. When they put it in my drip line, I loosened the grip on the clasp they used to monitor the dosage on the tube to let in more to ignore the beginning fit, but, of course, they discovered me. I downed the medication in pill early Monday morning to stop the withdrawals. Though, when one goes through extraction, they don’t think clearly, not even I. So, instead of keeping the pills for coasting through the day somewhat high and sane, I halted it and gained an immediate release and, as a result, punished myself later.

          “First in the row, partner up with the person behind you and finish the assignment on one sheet, same with third in the row, and so on.” Chastely slurred in a muffled voice. My eyes refused to stay open, and my heart started racing.  _Mycroft should have forced me home. I’ll end up making a fool of myself during class._  Panic started to overtake my senses as John Watson blurrily turned to me. He muttered something, but I couldn’t grasp any sound through the haste my brain was tricked into thinking was necessary. I could, however, feel two legs interlock with my own, and I was able to focus a bit more. The contact was somewhat grounding.

          “Sherlock,” John whispered at me gently. “Remember to breathe.” As if the words pressed a button, my lungs started to stutter and bring air in shallowly.

          “What’s wrong, Sherlock?” Jim muttered at me greasily. “Not enough c-“

          “Shut the fuck up, yeah?” John suggested immediately in a venomous voice, obviously not wanting to deal with them any more than I did. It must have worked, as Jim actually  _did_  quiet. John’s voice became kind once again. “Hey, focus on me.” I caught myself shaking and rotating my head, which I hadn’t noticed I was doing until John called for my attention. I looked straight into his blue eyes and kept them there for as long as I could. My lids slipped shut and I could feel the tears well up. Laying my forehead on the desk, I let the salty water slide from them noiselessly. Nausea started creeping into my stomach, and a hand began rubbing small circles with the thumb on my shoulder.  _Wristwatch._  An insanely loud scratching sound appeared in my right ear. At first, I was sure that it wasn’t actually real, some part of a beginning hallucination, but as I turned my head, I could see a blue cylinder scribbling words onto a sheet of paper. ‘ _1\. Tourniquets may make amputation a necessity, but overall, are very useful and can save lives._ ’ I blinked my eyes free of tears and realized that John was filling out the assignment. I could feel my mouth slacken and dry as I stared harder, trying to comprehend and make sense of everything around me. Everything was losing its’ logic and that was the worst part of withdrawals: the confusion.

          The hand moved to the nape of my neck. “Start reciting what you are positive of right now, like your name, where you’re at, that sort of thing,” John mumbled right on cue, as if his brain was connected to mine somehow. “Not in your head, either. Out loud, so I can correct you if you’re wrong. If you do it in your head, it may make things worse.”

          “I am Sherlock Holmes,” I slurred out through gritted teeth, moving my forehead to connect with the desk once more. “You are John Watson. You like to use the words ‘may’ and ‘make’ in sequence quite often,” I heard him stop writing. He probably looked at the paper, and realized that I was correct. “I am currently in Health and Wellness. I have lunch next period and probably will not consume any food. I- You’re finishing our group assignment,” I stopped talking, as my voice grew increasingly shaken, threatening to be silenced by vomit. The recital helped significantly to still my brain, though. “S’all I got.”

          “Everything was right except for the eating part. I’m going to make sure you eat.” John cooed out as he continued to rub circles at the back of my neck.

          “Why?”

         “Because, an empty stomach will not help what I believe to be either a withdrawal or a really bad trip. It-“ John started.

          I interrupted in a clipped tone. “No.  _Why are you helping me._ ”

          John responded quickly. “ _Because_ ,” he nearly hissed back. “You obviously need it, _you idiot._ ”

          Surprisingly, he sounded almost fond of me, like he was mocking in a friendly voice. I couldn’t have been sure, as I was still having an attack and no one ever wasted the effort to affectionately tease me. “Acceptable reasoning.”

          John snorted as he laid his pen down next to my ear. “Of course it is,” I lifted my head to shoot a tearful glare at him, trapping his hand between my head and neck. “Right. Just lay your head back down.” I did so without protesting. My shaking hands were suddenly aware of themselves, and I quickly released the death grip I had on the handfuls of jean I was holding underneath the desk. They dropped from his thighs and my mind was steadily becoming clearer. Breathing became easier and the cloud was rapidly removing itself from my consciousness.

          “You’re stressed out yourself, is what I meant. Why help me if you have problems of your own to think about.” I murmured, my lips brushing the desk.

          “I-,” John began and then stopped.  _The thought had not occurred to him, then._  “It helps to destress me, actually. And you obviously need a destressor yourself.”

          “That’s not even a real word.” I snorted out.

          Playfulness crept into his tone. “Shut up,” The circles stopped, and I almost groaned. They felt very nice, and I didn’t want them to be finished just yet. As a result, I tightened around the calves that hooked with my own. “I’m still solid and here, no worries.” John whispered at me, picking the pen up again. The cramp that made its way into my stomach slowly unknotted itself. I was unsure of how long I sat practising my breaths.

          “Sherlock, did you really leave John do to all of your work? It’s his second day here. It wouldn’t kill you to be courteous.” Mr. Chastely chided at me. I barely lifted my head when John answered for me.

          “Oh, no sir. We’re actually finished.” The paper rose towards the teacher, who certainly looked miffed.

          “That was quick,” He commented looking over the sheet. “This is also in only one handwriting, and I’m pretty sure it’s not Sherlock’s.”

          John didn’t miss a beat. “Well, I don’t see why that would even be a problem. It makes a lot more sense to have just one person write. I offered since it’s been said that geniuses don’t tend to have the best of handwriting, and I’m sure you know as well as I do that Sherlock would be included in that generalization. He’s also feeling unwell.”  _Understatement, thank you._  “That being said, I also am really interested in anatomy, which is why this got done so quickly.”

          Mr. Chastely squinted as I laid my head down again, smiling to myself. John added too much information to the end of the lie, but the instructor was a complete idiot, so he didn’t notice the tell-tale signs of misinformation. I heard the feet scuff away, and raised my head again, a bead of sweat rolling off my neck.

          “The guy’s an asshat.” John quipped, turning back towards me with an entirely serious face.

I could only laugh.


End file.
